


Spirits of Another Sort

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, PWP, dubcon, ish, old fic so the style may differ to my others!, since it's a bit of a 'fuck or die' scenario, soulless!sam in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: Set during 6.09 'Clap Your Hands if you Believe.'Dean? Did you service Oberon, King of the fairies?





	Spirits of Another Sort

**Author's Note:**

> Old birthday gift for [](https://katie-f-thomas.livejournal.com/profile)[katie_f_thomas](https://katie-f-thomas.livejournal.com/)  
> (archived here for posterity)

" **Consort** Coit; a bedfellow.  
_MND, III.ii.387._ Puck tells his 'fairy lord' the damned spirits 'to their wormy bed are gone... And must aye consort with black-brow'd night.' Oberon: 'But we are spirits of another sort:/I with the Morning's love have oft made sport.' In WORMY (syphilitic) beds, DAMED (a dam or woman) spirits consort (CON) or mate with black-brow'd night [...] He is a spirit of another _sort_ (con-sort) and his 'I' made sport (played sexually) oft (behind) with Morning. Women are traditionally night (Cynthia, moon, sister of Apollo, sun) and men are day."

~ _A Dictionary of Shakespeare's Sexual Puns and their Significance,_ Frankie Rubinstein. 2nd ed. p.55   
(Which basically means - Oberon likes to fuck men)

~*~

It took a lot to rattle Dean.

Not so much to piss him off, especially lately. But what with Yellow Eyes, Lilith, Alistair and the fucking Devil, there wasn't much left to get his heart _really_ racing, pounding his ribs so they felt bruised and ready to snap, brain incapable of anything beyond the basic _fight!_ and _flight!_ and, worse, uncertain which to choose.

He's there now.

The light is blinding, burning deep into his retinas until there's nothing else, no feeling, no sound, no taste, no smell. Just the white. And that terrifies him.

Loosing blood he can handle, hell, even loosing a limb he's sure he'd get over soon enough, but loosing _everything_ like this, all his awareness and sense of self - _that_ he can't handle. That smacks too much of possession, of a greater power beyond his ability to fight taking control, taking his life away from him. Again. And since he'd barely made it through the last time, he's not sure he won't crack completely under the weight of another attempt.

It's bad enough him and Sam are singing to Crowley's tune these days, but at least a demon is something Dean knows he has a concrete chance of defeating given the opportunity. This? This is a total unknown, and while some people might get off on that, for Dean 'unknown' is just word for bad news you haven't found out about yet _._ The last unknown that had forced its way into his life had been an angel, after all, and look where _that_ had lead him. Plus, there were four people missing already as a result of this... whatever (he couldn't yet bring himself to think 'alien')... So whichever way you looked at it, it sure wasn't good.

There's no pain though, which is something, Dean thinks, forcing himself to focus on the positives. And Sam's still out there...

A thought that only intensifies his fear because, yeah, the guy's less than sympathetic reaction to Dean's predicament over the phone hardly inspired hope of a speedy rescue.

A series of fuzzy tingles start running up and down Dean's arms and legs and some of his terror ebbs. Sensation. His body _is_ still his own then.

He still can't see, but he _can_ feel his position - upright, legs apart; gun-hand raised, other hand gripping his knife. Much as he had been in the field when the beam of light first hit. Experimentally he squeezes his trigger finger and is gratified to feel a kick in his palm and, a little later, hear the muffled sound of gunfire.

He still has his weapon then.

Heartened by the discovery he starts twisting round, somewhat unevenly as his control isn't all there yet, firing as he goes.

Gradually, a few noises besides the crack of bullets filter through, high-pitched and startled, and then, thank god, shapes and colours. The world is little more than a blur right now, but each blink makes his focus clearer until he can see several distinct bodies around him. Dean expects them to darken into silhouettes as he acclimatises to the light behind - natural or artificial? he can't tell - but instead the figures seem to flicker and grow brighter and he's forced to look away.

Caught off guard by this Dean lowers his weapon for a moment and a few of the creatures rush up to him. Dean feels something small and cold wrap tight round his shoulder, another round his leg and yet another at his wrist, this last one struggling to prise his fingers away from the gun. Whatever has his shoulder is large, and strong, and starts pulling him back, aided, though to a significantly lesser extent, by the hold on his leg. Meanwhile, whatever's by his hand is... well, just plain weird. Because it seems to be _circling_ his hand, as in, _all of the thing_ is moving under and over it, tugging occasionally at his knuckles. Like an overgrown firefly. A mutant firefly with opposable thumbs.

Dean turns his head to have another try at seeing what's attacking him, but the glare is too strong. He sees past the creatures instead and makes out some kind of platform. A table maybe?

At which point his mind is lost in another flare of shock and panic, some of Sam's last words slamming back to him. _Third kind already? Better run, man. I think the forth kind is a butt thing._

He snaps his free arm back and is surprised to hit something solid. The hold on his shoulder lifts and Dean doesn't waste the opportunity, he slashes behind him, then down by his legs and above his other arm too. There are some remarkably human sounding hisses and cries and the bright things jump away.

But before Dean can collect himself and get his bearings they're back again, and they've brought friends. A veritable swarm of lights, large and small, crush against him, pinning his arms to his sides and forcing him backwards towards the... whatever it is...

Then -

"Unhand him!"

The voice rolls over them like thunder. Majestic. Commanding. And...

...and kind of familiar, actually.

"I said, unhand him!" it cries again when the living lightbulbs don't immediately comply and all at once Dean is released.

The lights move aside and kind of - _dim_. A show of respect, Dean thinks. Whoever the owner of this voice is, he's clearly the head honcho around here.

Now fully in control of his limbs again, Dean raises both his weapons. The boss-man might have ordered the others to let him go, but that doesn't guarantee a happier fate awaits him further up the chain of command.

With less glare from the creatures his sight is returning faster and he can see the lights aren't shapeless blobs like he'd been assuming, they're humanoid. Two arms and two legs in all the usual places, albeit much much smaller than normal in some cases. Also, some of the smaller ones seem to have something growing out of their backs, something that, if Dean didn't know better he would have sworn were...

"Leave us," the mystery voice presses. "I would speak with this one alone."

Ominous.

Dean grips the handle of his knife tighter as one by one the lights drift away and a much larger one steps forward to replace them. This one is different, not garish white and yellow like the others but soft blue, and as it comes nearer Dean can make out greater details inside it - dots and swirls of gold twisting into some kind of pattern, curving down and out and -

Yep. Yep, those are _definitely_ wings.

And not badass, manly wings either, with sleek feathers, sharp and smooth and just a breath away from going Warren 'Archangel' Worthington on your ass. No, these don't even _have_ feathers. These are all soft curves, like a butterfly's, gold veins running through the mesh, silky and stretched out tight, so thin they're almost transparent. The word 'gossamer' pops into Dean's head from some half-remembered fairy tale his mom used to read before bed and he shakes his head in disbelief. This? _This_ is what's been kidnapping people? A giant moth with a glitter fetish?

Then the blue shine dies down and the figure between the wings comes into focus, tan trenchcoat, dull yet pristine as always, clashing horribly with the pastel colours beyond, jaw still caught in that endless five o'clock shadow, the tie of his dress suit twisted at the end.

Dean lowers his arms. He can _feel_ his eyes bulging but hell if he gives a crap, this is too surreal.

"The hell? _Cas?_ "

Cas lunges forward and grips Dean's arm tight in one hand and if Dean was at all uncertain this was the angel who'd pulled him from the Pit he's not anymore, he'd know that look of consternation anywhere.

"Don't use my name," Cas tells him, urgently, glancing around. "I'm on a mission of infiltration."

"Infiltration?" Dean repeats, but despite the confusion his fear and panic is already melting away, relief at having someone he knows as a friend beside him settling in its place. Okay, he thinks, as he slips his knife and gun back into his jeans, so maybe the unknown isn't _always_ bad. "What are you talking about? What's going on?"

Cas finishes scanning the land around them before answering. Land Dean can now make out clearly as lush green earth circled by dense forest. There's a sound of trickling water too, light and fresh, like there's a stream nearby just out of sight and above them a warm, yellow sun beams down.

It's beautiful, actually. And as far from an alien spaceship as you could possibly get.

"I came here intending to ask the faerie people for help in my fight against Raphael," Castiel explains, releasing Dean's arm. "But there has been some... misunderstanding."

"The who?" Dean asks, rubbing where Cas was gripping him. In his hurry the angel must have forgotten to temper his strength, and yet the removal of his touch seems more of a loss than anything, lessening the familiar sense of _Cas_ and forcing back the madness of everything else.

Like those weirdo wings, for example. And had Cas said -?

"The faerie," Cas repeats. "This is their realm. What are _you_ doing here?"

Dean blinks and looks round again. This time he notes that between the trees circling them there are small rocks positioned at regular intervals like... well, like a damn fairy ring, he supposes. And behind him, in the centre, what he'd taken as a probing table is in fact a larger stone, flattened on top with garlands of flowers decorating its sides. An alter, perhaps.

"Damn. You're kidding me," he mutters, turning back. "Wackadoo lady was _right?_ "

Castiel tilts his head and Dean waves away the 'I don't understand' before it can start.

"Nevermind. Sam and I are working a job. People going missing. What do you mean 'misunderstanding'? And what's with the... I mean..." He waves a hand behind Cas' back, nose scrunching up as he looks over the wings again. They seem to shimmer under his gaze. "Is this... is this how you look? Really?"

Castiel full on scowls.

"Of course not," he answers, voice clipped. "As I said, my true form is larger than skyscrapers. It is full of power and glory... and has much less... sparkle."

His eyes drop down and he shifts his shoulders a little, like he's uncomfortable. Dean sympathises. If he had a pair of glittery abominations sprouting out of his back he wouldn't feel exactly happy about it either.

"These were presented to me upon my arrival," Cas continues. "I assumed they were some kind of offer of hospitality and did not wish to appear discourteous, so I agreed to wear them. Only..." His lips purse together and he looks away. "Only they turned out to be somewhat more binding. A physical contract, if you will. By accepting them I agreed to take on the role they represent."

"What role?" Dean presses when Cas hesitates.

Castiel looks back and meets his gaze, eyes the same dull, weary navy they've been since his return after Dean's prayer, when they learnt about the war and Raphael's vendetta. Dean has a sudden flash to the first time he saw those eyes, all righteous and vivid and so otherworldly he'd always known, deep down, that when Cas said 'angel' it couldn't be anything but the truth. Dean misses that blue.

"Their king," Cas answers.

"Their...?" Dean starts, then stops to bite his cheek against the bout of hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up as the implication hits. "Cas, are you saying you're the king of the fairies?"

Cas nods, missing the joke, as always.

He glances anxiously round again before leaning forward to continue in a whisper.

"Yes. And I told you, don't use my name. My time here has proven very informative and, from what I have heard, Heaven and angels are _not_ highly regarded by the faerie people. I think it would be best if they did not discover my true nature. It could be dangerous."

Dean quirks an eyebrow.

"Seriously? You can't take on a few pixies?"

Castiel's brow folds down and he pulls his head back, staring at Dean like he's grown a pair of dumbass wings himself.

"One or two, perhaps," the angel deadpans. "But there's a whole army here, not to mention the leprechauns and the gnomes. If I were to try and leave by force I'd be lucky to escape alive."

Dean just stares at Castiel's sombre expression.

Then nods, slowly. Like the idea of leprechauns and gnomes as a deadly force is not the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"Riiight..." he starts. "So..." He shrugs. "Can't you just... give the wings back? Tell them 'thanks but no thanks' and move on?"

Cas sighs, shoulders dropping. The wings are drawn down as well, flapping a little as they shift and raining golden dust down on the grass.

"It's not that simple," he mutters, moving past Dean towards the stone in the centre of the clearing.

Dean swerves out of the way, arms flailing as he tries to avoid any glitter falling on him.

He watches Cas slump down on the rock, hands on his knees, eyes downcast, and suddenly it's not the fairies or the glitter-wings or Sam that bothers him. It's seeing Cas like this. Tired and worn down in a way not even the apocalypse had managed.

Sure, Cas had a hard time of it then, enough that Dean had risked throwing a few pills his way just to take the edge off. But that was because he'd been pretty defeated himself, not thinking clearly, and Cas had proved stronger, teaming up with Sam to pull _him_ back from the edge. No, even during the worst of times Cas had kept that righteous spark of his. It had wavered sometimes, but it always came back, even when the fight seemed over and Lucifer had Sam locked up Cas had been there to give Dean his five minutes.

Not anymore.

Now Cas is barely there at all and when he is he's either distant and stony or distant and broken and Dean hates it. Hates that whenever he sees Cas now it's only when both of them are knee deep in trouble with no time to breathe, or talk, or tease, or, fuck it, even _stare_. He's just there and gone again in a snap when, somewhere along the line, Dean had been counting on the angel to be his one constant in all this mess, what with Sam AWOL even standing two feet away, Lisa finally cutting off all ties like Dean's been expecting her to all year and Bobby busy being the lynchpin of the hunting community.

But no, Cas had to up and change on him as well and it was the final fucking straw.

God, it had felt good laying into him during that Veritas crap, venting his frustration on someone who actually seemed to give a damn and shouting louder every time Cas flinched. Because he didn't want to sympathise, he didn't want to _understand_ , he wanted to force the world back into some kind of order, and Cas... Cas had stood there and _let_ him.

He'd been moody enough about it, though. Downright snarky, sometimes, for Cas. _Of course. Your problems always come first_. So Dean had figured there was enough push and shove between them to balance things.

Only, seeing the dark crows feet spreading from the corner of Cas' eyes now he starts to wonder if he's been pushing too hard.

He'd thought nothing of dragging Cas into his mission to help Sam, after all, but once they were done he'd left the angel to take on his own troubles without a thought. A whole war of trouble, the least of which was this solo mission into Disneyland, where he'd clearly got stuck somehow without back up.

"My position is probationary," Cas explains, the words tired and breathy. Dean listens without comment. He owes his friend that much. "If I complete the required tasks in a satisfactory manner I will have earned my place and the respect of the people. After that I can do what I wish. But if I don't..."

He trails off.

"If you don't some shortass Donald Trump with wings is gonna fire you. Literally," Dean finishes.

Cas' eyebrows press together for a moment at the reference, but he brushes his confusion away with a sigh.

"Something like that."

Bummer.

"Fuck, man," Dean commiserates. "I'm sorry. Listen, if there's any way I can help out, I'm there -" Cas' eyes flick up to him, slightly panicked. "- but I gotta find these kids first. You've been here a while, right? Well these fairy things must have kidnapped them, same as they did me, have you seen anything?"

The panic fades quickly - enough that Dean figures he must have imagined it and he needs to focus back on the job in any case - and Cas' expression turns grim.

"You can't save them, Dean," he says. "It's too late."

Dean's expression hardens to match and he steps closer, frowning down at the angel.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they're gone. It would be pointless to think on them."

"Gone _where?_ " Dean presses, because the days of cryptic answers are _so_ over.

Cas' lips press together and he gives Dean a searching look, one Dean doesn't like one bit because the last time he saw that expression he'd found out his baby brother was missing his soul.

"Gone _where?_ " he repeats, softer but no less demanding.

"Hell," Cas replies.

Dean turns his head, looking at Cas sideways, eyebrows lifting. Hoping for some kind of punchline.

"Hell?" he queries. "Like, _Hell_ Hell?"

"Yes," Cas nods, a touch of sympathy in his eyes at least. Which is more than he might have shown a few weeks ago. He continues on without prompting as well. "A treaty was formed, many years ago, between the forces of Hell and the faery. It promised that no demon would ever cross the faery realm, or harm a faery born. For a price." Dean nods. Of course, there's always a price. "Every seven years Hell demands a tithe. The soul of a first-born. The faery take human souls to give as payment when the tithes are due, so they don't have to sacrifice their own."

Dean takes a breath as he processes this. First-borns, so _that's_ the connection. But...

"No, wait. A single soul every seven years? There are _four_ kids missing so far, does that mean three of them are still here?"

Cas shakes his head.

"Not alive. It seems the faery people have become quite adept at stockpiling."

Dean looks away and bites back a curse. He doesn't bother questioning - Cas wouldn't lie.

"Okay. So those four are a lost cause. But how do we stop -?"

A twinkle at the corner of his eye cuts him off and a second later a circle of light no bigger than his fist flies out of the clearing and hovers by his shoulder.

Castiel stands and nods at it and the light dims enough for Dean to make out a very small, very pretty, very _naked_ woman with long, transparent wings, like a dragonfly's, vibrating out from her shoulders.

"You may speak," Cas tells the... fuck it, the _fairy_.

"My Lord Oberon," she answers bowing her head, voice a little tinny but perfectly audible.

_Oberon?_ Dean thinks.

"I am sent to learn your choice. Are we to take this one to join the others, or -?"

" _No_ ," Cas interrupts, so sharp the fairy startles and tumbles back, wings whirring overtime as she rights herself. Dean shoots Cas a grateful look. There's one Winchester soul too many downstairs as it is. But oddly, Cas shies away from the glance, Adam's apple bobbing in what looks like unease, and new anxiety starts to churn in the pit of Dean's stomach. "No," Cas continues, softer. "Tell the others... tell them this one. This is the one. Have him taken to my bower."

Cas turns away without another word, totally ignoring the _what-the-fuck_ raise of eyebrows Dean throws at his back and damn it, that _has_ to be deliberate.

Dean opens his mouth, the word 'bower?' on the tip of his tongue, but the fairy cuts him off, flitting excitedly about his face, tiny lips spread into a wide and joyous smile.

"Come," she tinkles. "You must be prepared."

She rushes up to him before he can even think of asking 'prepared for what?' and taps him between the eyes. There's a flurry of gold that makes him sneeze and when he blinks out of it he's somewhere completely different.

~*~

Dean thinks it's a tent at first, until he realises there are no poles, and that the walls are too smooth and too _fleshy_ to be fabric. They're also tinted, purple-y, and they smell... nice. Sort of, flowery. Or...

A quick glance up reveals a short, yellowish stalk in the centre of the ceiling.

A flower.

A giant flower.

Dean Winchester is surrounded by fairies in the middle of a giant flower.

Well, that's gay.

And if that's not bad enough, one of the swarm - he can't tell if it's the one who spoke to him outside or not, they're all equally tiny and pretty - proceeds to place a circle of daisies on his head.

He's about to protest when the others grip his shirt and jacket and, working together in one slick motion, pull both items off, leaving him to shiver slightly as his bare chest is exposed to the air.

The rest of fairies convene round his belt, working the buckle open and moving in on his zipper.

"Hey! What the fuck?" Dean manages, finally, batting at the things with his hands.

Several of them tumble away but there's always more buzzing back, so Dean pulls his knife out again and waves it over them.

Apparently word's got round of the brief success of his resistance before, because the fairies halt and back off, hovering uncertainly a few inches away.

"I don't know what's going on here," Dean mutters, narrowing his eyes at them all as he uses his free hand to button himself back up. "But whatever it is, my pants are staying _on_ , okay?"

The fairies look at each other, faces tiny storm clouds of confusion, then one of them leaves the group and flies up. Dean jerks his head back a little at the sudden glare of light in his eyes.

"You are to service our Lord," she squeaks, hands resting on her hips, lips a pout of disapproval. "You must be properly adorned."

"I - what?" Dean stutters, but before the fairy can continue Cas is ducking through one of the petals opposite, ridiculous wings tucked back as he steps in. He's also gained a handmade crown, but his flowers are deep yellow - buttercups, maybe.

"Leave him," the angel nods, wings springing out as the petal falls behind him, bathing the place in a cool, baby-blue light. "He is perfectly acceptable."

The fairies move as one, performing a naked, mid-air courtesy to their probationary king.

"As you wish, Lord Oberon," they chorus, before whizzing away.

There's a pause as Dean glares. Then the hunter rips off his ring of daisies and stomps forward.

"Okay, _Oberon_ , mind filling me in a little?" He waves his garland around the 'room,' taking in the springy moss across the floor and the couch-type-thing made of twisted vines to the side, dotted with large, soft leaves and the occasional white flower. "What is this? And did she -? Did one of those Tinkerbells out there say 'service'? What does that mean?"

Castiel looks away and slips his hands in his pockets. A gesture that would have seemed incredibly human if it hadn't been accompanied by a nervous fluttering of giant blue wings. The movement mingles the dual scents of the flower they're in and the perfume of the vines and the heady combination makes Dean's head spin.

"I'm sorry," Cas says, still not looking Dean's way. "It was either this or have them take you."

The churning in Dean's stomach grows stronger as he slips his knife away and struggles to get a hold on what Cas is saying. The sickly air really isn't helping.

"Right," he nods, lifting a hand. He pauses when he notices he's still gripping the garland with it and chucks the flowers away impatiently, bringing his hand back up in a point. "Don't get me wrong, I'm psyched at not being stockpiled for the basement, but what exactly have you signed us up for here?"

Castiel bites his lip and doesn't answer so Dean prompts him, throwing his arm up and dropping it down again as he snaps.

" _Cas!_ "

The use of his name startles Cas' gaze back to him.

Castiel breaks the look for a second to glance around, but once he's satisfied no fairies appear within earshot he steps closer to Dean with a sigh.

"My final task as King," he explains. "It's the only thing I have not, as yet, attempted."

Dean nods, waiting for more.

"And you need me for it how?" he presses.

Cas sucks his lips in, as though bracing himself.

"I am required to... consort, with a first born human."

Dean shrugs.

"Consort? Like... talk, or something?"

Cas shakes his head.

"No. Something rather more... physical."

Dean's eyes flick up and away as he thinks this over, accessing the part of his brain he has allocated as a 'Cas translator' for help at making sense of the angel's often unforthcoming phrases.

The truth hits him like a bolt of lightening and his eyes grow wide.

"No," he says firmly, holding up his palms and backing away. "No way, man." Castiel's lips flatten and his eyes drop down in apology. "There's gotta be a plan B. Can't we just bust our way outta here?"

When Cas looks up his eyes are the worst kind of puppy dogs, the ones Sam doesn't even try to fake anymore because he knows he'll screw it up, the ones that say 'I wish I could help you, but I _can't_ and I'm _so sorry_.'

Dean waves a hand and turns away from them, refusing to let the look get to him because, damn it, this is asking _too much_.

"Yeah, yeah, right, the gnomes and the leprechauns," he mutters, steeling his face into something stern so he can hold down Cas' gaze when he looks back. "Come on, man. You're a freaking _angel of the lord_. Just whip us up a back door or something."

Cas lifts his eyes skyward in a look part exasperation, part fondness. Much like when Dean had asked him to pull Sam's soul from the Cage. Like he's embarrassed at how highly Dean rates his abilities, but flattered at the same time.

"I can't," he starts, ploughing on when Dean tries to interrupt. "My magic and faery magic is... incompatible." When Dean looks unconvinced Cas steps closer and gestures with his hands as he speaks, like a teacher trying to hold the attention of an unruly pupil. "Think of this world as... as water. By being in it, it is like being under the surface of the sea. Now think of my powers as fire. If I were to try and use them here -"

"You'd get a whole load of rain on your parade," Dean nods, finally understanding. He turns away and rubs at his temples with one hand. Dear god, he might actually have to consider... and fuck it, the cloying scent of flowers is starting to give him a headache.

"Yes," Cas continues behind him. "But Dean, if I were to complete the final task and become King I would gain access to magicks inherent to the title and I believe I would be able to open a portal to -"

"You _believe_?" Dean interrupts, lifting his hand away and shooting Cas an incredulous look. Oddly, the soft blue of the other's stupid, still fluttering wings seems to ease the heavy throbbing growing between his eyes. Which only irritates Dean further, because nothing that ridiculous should actually be helpful. "This is a lot to ask for a maybe, Cas."

"I know," Cas agrees. Which is frustrating too, because it would be _so_ much easier to refuse if the angel weren't so damn sympathetic. "If there were any other way -"

"Whatever. Save it," Dean cuts him off. 'What ifs' are never helpful and hearing Cas lamenting over them would only make a chick flick out of a moment that's already awkward enough.

He turns and paces a few steps away. Twists and paces back.

Takes a breath.

"Okay," he nods, facing Cas head on, expression cool and business-like. "Just how far are we, you know, supposed to go?"

Cas considers.

"The people are unclear on the matter," he answers eventually. "And it seemed imprudent to ask for instructions."

Dean closes his eyes and counts to ten, determined not to let the urge to punch Cas as hard as he can get the better of him. It would only leave him with a smarting hand and neither of them closer to escape anyway.

He stares Cas down when he opens his eyes again.

"If we get out of this," he starts, pointing a finger at the angel. "I'm sitting you down with a dictionary, so I can teach you the difference between infiltration and in _carceration_." He shakes his head, releasing the remainder of his frustration in a short, vehement puff of air. "Right. Well. I guess we could try the basics at least." He shrugs and waves his hand in a 'come hither' gesture. "Come here."

Cas tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion, but complies.

He comes in close, as usual, all that talk of personal space falling on deaf ears each and every time. Only as the spike of discomfort hits, Dean finds it foreign. He's grown used to this, he realises. The part of him that used to protest now just accepting that Cas' place is barely two inches from his own because that's how it is. Like gravity.

It's sort of upsetting to find that familiarity suddenly in jeopardy. To find Cas' piercing gaze invasive again, instead of grounding.

So Dean shuts it out. Screws his eyes up and leans in before he can change his mind.

It's pretty much what he expects. Cas' lips are warm and dry and tense with shock. No doubt a third party watching would find the angel ram rod straight, eyes open wide. His behaviour in the brothel had made it more than clear sex was something that made Cas uneasy, so it's no surprise. Dean supposes if he hadn't tried it for two thousand years it would be a bit daunting for him too.

But to get no give at all! Come on. There's scared and there's uncooperative. Cas is the one who needs this to get out of the mess he's put himself in, he could at least _try_.

So Dean takes things a little further than he'd planned, stepping in so he can feel the flaps of Cas' coat against his skin, hands gripping the tan at Cas' shoulders to hold the angel in place as he shifts, twisting his head and kissing deeper, stubble tickling his chin.

When Cas' lips part in a gasp it sounds like victory.

Enough that Dean almost doesn't stop.

Enough to make his hands linger on Cas' shoulders as he pulls away.

Like he thought, Cas' eyes are still open, their blue rich and wild, like the sky before a thunderstorm. And that's a surprise, to see them so deep again, after so long.

They hold each other to the point where Dean actually startles at the light shower of glitter when Cas' wings give an involuntary flick. Shit. He'd forgotten about those.

"So... um... feel anything?" Dean asks. From the way Cas' head starts to tilt, eyes thoughtful for all the wrong reasons, Dean worries he might have phrased that wrong and hurries to correct himself. "I mean, did it work?"

The tempest in Cas' eyes calms a little.

"No," he answers. "Nothing has changed."

Dean bites his lip, chewing down disappointment and apprehension, and Cas' eyes follow the motion.

"But..." the angel continues, strangely hesitant. "I was... unprepared. Perhaps... we should try again?"  
  
Dean shrugs. That seems logical enough, he supposes, and leans back in. Only this time Cas mirrors him, dipping his head forward.

On the one hand this is an improvement. Yay for a no longer passive angel. But on the other hand it makes this time a lot more awkward because they have to stop short so their noses don't bump, and when they finally figure to tilt their heads they end up in a stupid little dance with both of them tilting the same way, Cas all straight-faced and concentrating hard, like this is a hugely important life skill he's determined to get right, while Dean's closer to giggling like a schoolgirl.

Fortunately they hit on the right position before Dean loses it and meet each other together.

Cas' lips are softer now, moving in tandem with Dean's, gentle and unsure. It's better, but not _much_ different to before, and if they're gonna kick-start this thing with a kiss Dean figures it's gotta be dirty. Despite where they are, this ain't no fairytale. So he grips Cas tighter, pulls himself closer and...

...feels Cas press his tongue against Dean's own with a muffled sigh. Holy shi-?

Dean gives a startled sort of squeak but doesn't pull away. Mostly because Cas has shifted tighter in, hands stoking along Dean's bare waist, fingers curling there and holding him in place.

But also because... this is... kinda nice.

Cas is no pro, but he's a fast learner, and goddamn if he hasn't gone from stoic all the way to compliant, the slightest push or lick from Dean enough to guide him until Dean's lips are full on tingling from the attention. It's the kind of making-out Dean hasn't had with anyone since high school, what with it being pretty much all _lowerlowerlowerthere!_ with the chicks he hooks up with these days. And that is fun, no doubt about it, but it's meant he's forgotten how _good_ a kiss can be, the way it spreads heat from the top down instead of the other way around.

And jesus, dude's got stamina. Showing no sign of stopping or pulling away, just breathing Dean in like he could do it forever. Like oxygen doesn't matter as much as the way Dean feels and tastes. Although, fuck, maybe it doesn't. Angel. But hell with it, Dean's got a little longer left in him.

The expanse of empty air as he moves his hand up surprises him at first, but then he remembers. Short hair. Short. Cas gives a small moan when Dean first threads his fingers in and heat trickles down Dean's body that much faster, one of his thighs slipping between Cas' legs on instinct. He barely even registers the hardness there beyond the natural element it is, too busy to be freaked out.

Cas' hair isn't soft, but it's not wiry either, making it just right for Dean to slide along without worrying about messing it up. Just long enough to twist his fingertips round, fix his hold and keep Cas still.

Castiel doesn't protest. In fact his own fingers press tighter into Dean's side at the same time, like he's trying to help, trying to anchor himself in position so neither of them have to move again, ever.

Only Dean does. He needs air, even if Cas doesn't.

So he unravels his hand and moves it, tugging Cas gently away. His fingers brush something silky and twisted and he thinks _what the hell?_ and then _fucking buttercups_.

They both gasp as their lips part, the sound of a broken spell. Only Dean thinks he might want to stay enchanted.

He presses their foreheads together and keeps his eyes closed, trying not to think yet about everything else encroaching on his consciousness. About the fairies and Cas' kingship and the shell of his brother in the world he's left behind.

Fuck, too late.

"Did... ah...?" he starts, too out of breath to finish.

Cas draws in a couple of shaky breaths himself before answering, even though Dean's certain he doesn't need them, and what's that about?

"No," he whispers.

Which means there's only one thing left to try.

"Damn..." Dean mutters. A reflex. The natural response of the image he's spent his life cultivating, the one of a ladies man, the type of guy all the girls fawn over. The type of guy who limits his desire and expertise to the opposite sex and nothing else.

The type of guy he's always really really _wished_ he could be.

But this isn't your usual hunting situation. Maybe this isn't the place for that guy. Maybe...

He pulls back with a deep breath, gaze lifting. His skin feels cold as the move draws Cas' hands away but that's not gonna matter soon enough.

Cas blinks languidly back at him. His pupils are blown, inky black whirlpools, and his hair is ruffled, the stupid yellow garland fallen to the side, like a broken halo. There's something else though, something seems wrong, and it takes Dean a moment to realise that what's wrong is that nothing is. No wings. Or. No. A quick glance to the side tells him they're still there, just pulled back and pressed tight together in a quivering blue line.

"Okay," he nods, stepping forward again. Decisive.

His hands lift to Cas' tie and slide along the circle of it, pulling the fabric apart until the whole thing comes undone. Cas watches him silently. Curious, but not enough to question, apparently. Maybe he's still too out of it from the kiss.

It's not until Dean pulls the tie off completely and drops it to the floor, moving immediately to the buttons of Cas' shirt, that the angel speaks up.

"What are you doing?"

Dean doesn't look up. If he lets himself get distracted now the whole thing could fall apart.

"We're not getting anywhere with all of this in the way," he answers, flapping an unbuttoned part of Cas' shirt as explanation while his other hand keeps moving down.

He hears a swish against the angel's collar. A single nod. Then Castiel is lifting his arms, shrugging the trenchcoat away.

Dean doesn't see how the hell Cas manages to navigate the wings, just hears the fabric thump as it drops to the ground. He's been working fast and pops open the last button a few seconds later. Cas' skin is pale and kind of soft looking underneath. Jimmy was in sales, after all, what did he need to work out for?

Oh god, Jimmy. There's a thought. Is he -?

No. Better to _not_ think about that.

Cas shivers when Dean puts his hands on him, sliding smooth up his chest, thumbs skimming his nipples. He's stopped by two slender hands across the back of his own. There's no pressure to them, although Dean knows there could be, more than he could handle, just a question.

"Dean."

Dean swallows when he finally lifts his head, nervous, suddenly, about what he's going to see. Because the truth is, Cas is maybe the best friend he's ever had. The longest, certainly. And he likes that about them. He likes having someone in his life, however occasional and however socially awkward their interactions may be, who he can talk to and shout at and care about _without_ the weight of family forever between them. Someone he can be with through _choice_ and not because they're someone he's hardwired to love.

Not that he and Cas have managed any of that, of course, what with them being flung together out of necessity, for the most part, like now. But the point is the _potential_ is there and Dean doesn't want to lose that. Doesn't want to look in Cas' eyes now and find they're crossing a line that friendship can't come back from.

So it's relief he feels more than anything when meets Cas' gaze and finds not reproach or regret but simple, honest fear. The same caught in the headlights look he'd given Chastity.

"It's cool, Cas. I got this," Dean tells the stricken angel, taking control of things as effortlessly as he had then. Cas' look softens, somewhere between gratitude and apology, and Dean knows they'll never even start if this keeps up. "Close your eyes," he instructs.

Cas does at once. And it's sort of delicious, the amount of trust in Dean that implies.

Cas feels tense again under Dean's hands, but not with resistance, more like nervous excitement, body trembling lightly in anticipation, heartbeat growing erratic.

Nothing Dean hasn't known before. He's had more than his fair share of inexperienced lovers. Time to forget about everything else and bust out some tried and tested moves, keep this professional. He can do this. He can. What does it matter if it's with a guy this time? It's not like that's entirely new anyway.

He tugs a hand free and touches it to Cas' face, runs a thumb, slow and soothing, over the angel's cheek. He makes sure to ignore how fresh and exciting the scratch of stubble is, and the thought of how it might feel to run his tongue along there - that's just crazy talk and not what this is about. This is about calming Cas down so he's ready for the next part. What does it matter how good it feels when his friend leans into the touch, shoulders relaxing? The important thing is the way _Cas_ is responding, not himself. Better if _he_ doesn't respond at all until he absolutely has to.

Dean kisses Cas again. A trail of light touches to his lips. Waiting for the warmth to seep in, bring back the pliancy the angel had shown before.

It doesn't take long. Soon enough Cas is swaying into him, a satisfied rumble, like a purr, in the back of his throat.

Dean thinks, for a moment, that it might be nice to trail his kisses lower. To pepper them over Cas' chest and rub hot circles into the angel's sides. If Cas likes making out as much as he seems to Dean figures he'll be delighted by that kind of attention and he'd like to see Cas slowly overcome like that, to watch and feel and taste as that kind of desire builds in the angel for the first time.

But he brushes the thought away even as it forms. He needs to stop this. Just because they're getting intimate here doesn't mean they have to get, well, _intimate_ about it. And besides, they're on a timetable.

So he subtly works Cas' belt and fly open instead, then pulls away and drops to his knees, easing the angel's pants and boxers down with him.

Cas is already hard, proud and erect against his belly. Which is not as much of a shock as Dean's expecting. In fact, the only surprise is how soft and inviting Cas' skin looks, all of him warm, blushing pink and clean. A far cry from the roughness and the dirt of the last time Dean had tried - been forced to try - this. Still, a skill's a skill, however you learn it, so Dean puts his to good use, licking up and around Cas' shaft to moisten it before plunging down.

Cas gasps and jerks back in response, which is completely unexpected. Dean's used to choking as the other party forces themselves in deeper at this stage.

He doesn't let it break his stride, though, just slides his hands up the back of Cas' thighs and grips his ass to hold him still. More soft skin, fitting snugly in his hands. It feels so different to what he remembers he can't help squeezing, just a bit, to spread the warmth around his palms.

Cas makes a low, deep noise of approval, cock swelling some more between Dean's lips. So far so good.

It's easy after that. Just a matter of quick movements back and forth. Although it occurs to Dean that, actually, taking this slow first would probably be nicer. Yeah. A slow, gentle build towards a fast finish. That's what women have done to him in the past. This might be his only chance to try it, and god knows Cas deserves the best here - it's his first time, and Dean wants it to be a good one.

Wants it? The hell? No he doesn't. Neither of them wants this. They're keeping it professional, remember?

And besides, Dean wouldn't know how to give Cas a slow build like that anyway. All he was taught was _fasterfasterdeeperharder!_ and this is no time to try and learn different. Jeeze, it's not like he's planning to make this a hobby.

Only... it _is_ kinda sweet the way Cas' hands are skimming his hair and his shoulders, fingers gripping and flexing in jerky spasms. Like the feel of it all is too much and he doesn't know how to cope. If Dean ever did give this another try, he'd tell Cas that being louder would help, that a few moans and groans might off-set the pressure so it wasn't completely overwhelming. Not that the fast, heavy breathing Cas has got going on doesn't have a certain charm.

It's when a lengthy moan does draw out of Cas' lips, the angel's hips pushing forward in short, probably unconscious, snaps, that Dean realises he's gone too far.

He pulls off and up in one easy move. He's surprised Cas doesn't try to stop him, but all his friend does is whimper, hips still jerking, body seeking out the absent pressure. Dean steadies him by holding Cas' waist and pressing them together. The white hot flash of pleasure as Cas' erection rubs up the bulge in his own pants tells Dean he's _way_ harder than he thought and he's not sure if that's good or bad.

"Sorry, I'm sorry..." Dean murmurs into Cas' neck, punctuating the apology with small kisses there. "We, err... we don't know what we need here..." His words are broken with short gasps that blend with Cas' continuing ones. Dean's more than a little out of breath himself. "So I figure, try everything, right...? As much as possible... and since you're the one supposed to do the... consorting... you're gonna... you're gonna have to..."

Cas' small, smooth hands slide up his elbows.

"Yes. I understand," he breathes in Dean's ear.

Dean shivers. Fuck. Has Cas' voice always been that low and gritty? How has he not noticed that before? That the angel has basically been talking like a porno this whole time? Oh wait. Because he's _not a girl_ and _didn't want to fuck the guy_ , that's why. Didn't? _Doesn't_. He _doesn't_ want to.

The heat between them dims as they step away from each other to work out logistics. Cas looks almost absurdly debauched, hair still ruffled with it's buttercup halo, naked save for his pants scrunched up below his knees, and it's such an odd look on someone usually so collected that Dean feels embarrassed. Embarrassed, and kinda proud, to have been the cause of such devastation.

He coughs and looks away, eyes finding the vine-bed-type-thing. It seems the best option so he nods at it.

"Right. So, I'll just..." He waves at the thing. "While you..." He waves behind him.

"Yes," Cas agrees, and Dean hears the sound of boots being untied and socks pulled off. Apparently Cas has a Dean translator.

Dean nods without turning and starts toeing off his own boots. A quick blowjob had been easy, but for some reason a full strip feels like something he should be giving Cas privacy for. Like he feels a need to make up for previous lack of respect or something.

He gets down to his boxers and then gets sort of... stuck. Because beyond this is the point of no return. If he goes further than this it means he's _sleeping with Castiel_ , and does he _really_ want to take that step? He stares at the bundle of vines and white flowers, unmoving and undecided.

Then Castiel moves up behind him and brushes his hands over Dean's shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into both of them, feeling round the softer scar tissue on the left. Reminding Dean it's not like Cas hasn't been freakishly close to him before. It's not like their relationship isn't already so far beyond unconventional they've practically circled back to ordinary.

"Dean, are you...?" Cas starts, ready to suggest an out they both know isn't an option.

"I'm fine," Dean interrupts, stepping out of the hold to shimmy his underwear down and away. "Let's do this."

He spins round, grabs Cas by the arms and drags them both down onto the 'bed,' slotting the angel on top of him and kissing him deep. If the thought and the image of the two of them doing this is starting to unnerve him then he'll work by the feel. And Cas feels... really _good_. Hot and firm and not too heavy, pressing just right against his chest and between his legs. Dean bends a leg slightly, dragging his knee beneath Cas' balls, and Cas murmurs something unintelligible but happy around Dean's tongue, pressing down on Dean's cock and oh, _oh, yes!_ Dean arches up to meet him, intensifying the pleasure, electric sparks shooting out from his groin, and there's no doubt Cas is feeling them too because his nails are biting hard into Dean's arms. _God_.

Even the vines are good - not scratchy, like Dean was expecting, but light and springy like an expensive mattress. The white flowers release more of their heady perfume as they're crushed as well, cocooning the two of them in an invisible cloud, only instead of being oppressive this much of the stuff makes Dean light-headed and super aware of every touch and stroke across his skin.

The kissing stretches long past Dean's intentions, both of them growing unfocused, lips straying to each other's cheek and jaw and shoulder. Dean finds a soft dip just under Cas' left ear that makes the angel keen beautifully if he licks it just right and he can't seem to stop himself, loving that high-pitched, wanton sound. He's never heard anything like it from Cas before and that's exciting, learning something new about this guy, this _angel_ , he's been hanging around with the last couple of years.

They don't have time for it, though, they really don't. There are homicidal fairies on the loose. Not to mention what the fuck Sam could be getting up to without his Jimmy Cricket, which is what finally brings the sense of urgency back to Dean.

"Cas, you..." he mutters against his friend's skin. "You gotta..."

"Wait," Cas gasps back, lifting up and reaching for something behind Dean's head. "Wait."

Whatever Cas is groping for he takes his sweet time finding it, pressing hard onto Dean's cock in the process in a way that's threatening to drive Dean slowly insane if the touch isn't accompanied by some friction soon. On the plus side, the buttercups finally lose their hold as Cas searches, dropping off him and to the floor. Dean doesn't bother trying to catch them - fairy tradition, or whatever, be damned.

Only then, goddamn it, Cas pulls up and _away_ , sitting back on his haunches. Dean catches a glimpse of neon blue as the angel moves, a flash of the wings that are still being held tight together and out of the way. But more importantly, he sees Cas above him in all his naked glory, cock thick and warm just inches from Dean's own. It's the picture he's been trying to avoid - both of them very much hot-bloodied men in a very clear sexual situation. Him - Dean Winchester - in bed with another man, with a friend. It's the image he's been afraid would change everything between them, would hit home the reality of it all and make him too weirded out to go on.

Except, you know, it's still just Cas. Piercing blue eyes, head tilt and everything. Just because Dean hadn't seen his dick before doesn't mean it wasn't there, and just because they can both see each other's now doesn't mean they've suddenly become different people. In fact, Cas is acting more himself than ever, his fear gone now he has a concrete purpose to work towards. He's ignoring Dean and focusing on something in his hands, a long, pinkish flower, or part of a flower - it looks like part of a foxglove to Dean, only larger.

"What's that?" Dean asks, just like he would in any other situation if Cas turned up with something he didn't recognise and, just for a moment, both of them being naked seems incidental.

Cas squeezes the end of the thing and a clear liquid squirts out onto his waiting fingers.

"Something to ease the passage, I was told," the angel answers, eyes flicking up, so fucking deadpan serious it's almost anti-pornographic and yet Dean kinda loves how genuine it is.

"Fairy lube, huh?" he clarifies, shifting up so he's resting on his elbows. "Well great, but forget it. We don't have time. Just get going already."

Something dark crosses Cas' eyes and before he knows it Dean is being pushed back down, wet and sticky fingers slammed flat against his chest, mixing the gel with the whorls and spikes of ink there.

"No, Dean," Cas growls, gaze boring into him, so close Dean can barely focus. "I will not have this be what you remember. I am no demon. And neither are you."

The push winded Dean a bit, but even without that he has no words, just long, gaping silence. He's never told anyone. Never. Although at the same time it's never been a secret. Sam, for instance, _had_ to have figured, what with some of the things Dean's sure he's muttered through his nightmares. And in any case, _thirty years_ of torture made it pretty much a given something sexual was gonna come around at some point.

No one's brought it up before though, which is just the way Dean likes it. Freaking angels.

He thinks he might want to punch Cas again, if he wasn't so damn horny. Because, dude, bringing up crap he doesn't want to talk about, especially when naked, is _not fair!_

Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to get up, thinking that leaving Cas hard and unsatisfied might be an equal, if not better and certainly more viable, punishment to knocking his lights out. Only he can't, of course. Trust Cas to bust out his angel mojo at the wrong time. He opens his mouth to tell Cas to get the fuck away instead, to shout at him that he's doing the best with what he knows and if Cas doesn't like it then the fairies can damn well have him.

But Cas stops his mouth with a kiss, deep and passionate, like he's trying to draw out Dean's objections and anger and shame along with it, like poison from a wound.

Dean puts a hand to Cas' face to push the guy away, or try at least. Except the message gets crossed somehow along the way and he ends up pulling Cas closer instead, fingers curling round his neck and twisting in his hair, back arching as he asks things with his body his mind would never let him do out loud. Things like _forgive me_ and _help me_ and _please, please show me something better, please tell me what Alistair taught isn't all there is, isn't all I'm worth_.

Cas moves along Dean's cheek, still kissing like he's trying to save him from the Pit all over again.

"Whatever they had you do," he whispers between kisses. "It's not the only way. Don't make this the same, Dean. This isn't the same."

He sounds so sure, and god, it would be nice, wouldn't it? It would be nice to try this without the fire and brimstone, without the taste of sulphur over the skin he was sucking, the burn of it inside him. So Dean nods. Lets Cas try it his way.

"Okay..." he mutters. "Okay. Go."

Cas doesn't go at once, he plants a few more kisses first. He's really getting into that part of things it seems. Dean's jaw and neck both get lavish attention and then, finally, Cas shifts and presses a hot half-kiss, half-lick to the mark on Dean's shoulder. The touch makes Dean shiver without really knowing why, fading erection jumping right back up, and he drops onto the vines with a muffled sigh.

That's when Cas moves, lifting his hand and sitting back like he was before. Dean expects his chest to grow cold and clammy without Cas' hand keeping the leftover gel there warm, but whatever the stuff is it stays hot and soaks in. Nice. Someone should market that in the real world, they'd make a killing.

There's a quiet squishing sound and Dean knows Cas is gathering more of the stuff. He doesn't look though, because, despite his agreement, he's far from convinced a little slick is gonna make much difference. And when Cas pulls his legs apart and circles a wet finger round his hole Dean can't help tensing and screwing up his eyes, like all the times before, gritting his teeth when Cas starts to push in.

Dean waits for the stab of pain, that feeling like he's being ripped in half, hands balled into fists at his sides. But it doesn't come.

Cas is moving so slowly, almost reverently, and with just the one finger. He curls it a little the deeper he gets, which is weird. But okay. Then pulls out, just as slow, and starts again. And again. And again.

After about the twentieth time Dean stops holding himself on a knife-edge waiting for agony and shame and starts to relax, fingers uncurling.

After the thirtieth Cas adds another finger and Dean's loose enough not to care, breath he didn't know had turned fast and shallow evening out.

Dean's lost all track of time when Cas adds a third finger and loses all track of everything else when the extra pressure rubs something inside him that makes his balls ache and his cock jump.

"Whoa!" he yelps, hips thrusting up a bit. "Oh. Cas, that's..." He thrusts up again, trying to get Cas' fingers back on that spot, surprise as much as lust cursing through him because, wow, he never felt _that_ before. "That's really _good_."

Fast learner that he is, Cas doesn't hesitate to move back in, pressing very softly until he finds the place again, then holding down there until Dean's writhing, cock and balls pulsing with the intensity of it.

Dean doesn't want to wuss out and say it's too much, except after a while it kind of is, leaving him gasping and on the verge of flinching away. Fortunately, Cas seems to get it and draws out, returning to their previous back and forth with only the occasional stroke around there, enough to drive Dean nicely wild. _Oh god_... and he is so hard now... he's not prepared for that. He'd expected this to bring him down and that he'd need to do some seriously rough tugs and twists to get himself off at the end of it. Now he's almost fucking there already and wouldn't be surprised if just a couple of touches were enough to get him spilling.

Which is why he cries out when Cas runs a thumb - slowly, like he's experimenting - down his shaft, from the head all the way to the base. The pleasure is fierce and exhilarating.

"Fuck!" Dean snaps his eyes open to Cas watching him, staring, one hand deep inside him, the other still hovering round Dean's cock.

He's totally unperturbed now, like he's realised, having finally got down to it, that finger fucking someone is actually the most natural, most fascinating thing in the world. Dean has a vague idea he should be put off by this, but he's so very _very_ not. Something to do with the way he's succeeded in dirtying Cas up where professional, paid-for-it Chastity had failed, perhaps? The old stroking the ego thing? As if Cas wasn't stroking enough already.

"Fuck, Cas," he tries again. "Don't, I'll - I'll -"

A small, sly smile tugs the corner of Cas' mouth and he very deliberately draws his thumb down Dean's cock again, slower this time, the fucking tease!

"Yes," he says.

Dean gasps, head dropping back as his whole body shudders from the feel.

" _Jesus! Fuck!_ " he hisses. He hasn't realised how much he's missed cursing during sex and relishes the sound of the words on his tongue again. Having a kid sleeping a couple of doors down had put an abrupt end to that side of the fun and games and wow does it feel good to have it back. Too good. He's not supposed to feel this good. Cas is the one who needs to - "Cas! Cas... you... do it. Now. Fuck me now!"

There's no deliberating - thank _god_ \- Cas just pulls his fingers out and puts his cock right in, hasty and fumbling a bit, which makes Dean wonder if the angel is just as eager.

There's a burn this time, because how could there not be? No matter how diligently Cas has prepared him the change in size is more than Dean's ready for. But he's still slick, and somehow, though god knows when the angel found the time, so is Cas, cock adding new wetness as he pushes in.

Cas isn't shy, he goes all the way, balls deep and they hold like that for a moment, Cas' hands gripping round Dean's thighs, Dean's fingers twisting through petals and leaves, both of them shaking as they get used to the feel. Then Cas rolls his hips a bit - testing, urging, wanting, or all of the above - Dean bucks deeper onto him and the calm before the storm is well and truly _over_.

There's no method anymore, just a whole lot of chaos, thrusting and grinding without rhythm or purpose. Just anything, anything at all that will get them closer, that will further the mind blowing chills running up and down Dean's spine. Any other time it might have been annoying, the shambles this has descended to, but Dean's so close, so very very close, it doesn't matter, and Cas doesn't sound any better. There are words spilling from the angel's lips now, ancient, guttural sounds Dean doesn't understand, aside from the occasional mention of his own name. Cas keeps coming back to that.

He's never heard his friend so out of control and - god - now - if he doesn't come now he'll -

Dean reaches for his cock just a second too late, gripping Cas' closed fist instead, the angel's fingers already burning up and down him, drawing his orgasm out in one long, awesome pull.

The surprise of having the thing, literally, taken out of his hands forces Dean's eyes open. He finds Cas' wide, staring intensely at the place where their hands meet, Dean's cock still nicely plump between them, both of their knuckles coated white and wet. Still buzzing with aftershock, all Dean can do is stare too.

After a second Cas looks up to him and the guy's absolutely wrecked, like he's just found the answer to the universe and it's either everything or nothing like he dreamed. Then he's pulling Dean's hand away, gripping it tight as he presses both of theirs down, curls Dean up and kisses him, hard, on the lips.

"Dean..." he mutters, over and over. "Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean..." Each name matched by a thrust of his hips until - " _Oh_..." Come-slick fingers twine with Dean's as Cas tenses then sags above him, riding out his release.

Cas is heavy and Dean's starting to cramp a little, but Dean smiles and threads his fingers back anyway, content to stay like this for a bit, basking in the warmth seeping out through what feels like every pore of his skin.

It's so good the glow seems almost visible, a red shine all over them. Soft, pinkish red that pulses, like a heartbeat, and keeps getting darker, through apple to blood to maroon.

Wait. That's not... that's not an afterglow, that's _real_.

"What the -?" Dean starts, just as Cas' hidden wings snap out with a sound like wet linen being shaken dry. Only instead of baby blue they're a hot, vibrant burgundy.

Cas pushes himself up, letting Dean stretch his legs out around his waist, and turns his head to look over the things, expression collected again and curious. Although, the sweaty, dishevelled state of his hair when he turns back somewhat negates his calm.

"It worked," he says, voice husky from his earlier mutterings.

Dean shakes his head, thrown by the unorthodox end to the proceedings, but sort of amused by it to.

"Yeah. I get that," he banters. "Not exactly subtle."

Cas doesn't respond beyond that tiny hint of a smile he's come to own and Dean can't help smiling back, because it's awesome that almost-smile. It's a show of humanity from the angel who claimed he didn't have the luxury for it. It's the crack in Cas' heavenly armour that Dean put there right from the start with his stubbornness that first Halloween together. It's their friendship given form and very much still alive.

It's all of these things, and something else too. Something new. Or something that's been there all along, unnoticed.

They're done here, consorting over, Dean knows it. But he strokes a hand down Cas' cheek anyway, catching the edge of that smile with his thumb, pulls himself up and tastes it.

Cas catches Dean's elbow to steady himself enough to kiss back and their other hands twist further together over the vines.

There's a second where Dean feels perfectly, blissfully happy, like everything he's ever wanted has fallen right into his lap and everything's right with the world.

Then he has to break the kiss to take a breath and notices the stickiness over the fingers he's twisting and the cooling beneath his skin.

He draws back and turns away.

"Um... I, err..." he starts, wondering how he can backtrack. Wondering if he wants to.

Cas saves him the trouble of figuring it out.

"We should hurry," the angel says, and suddenly Dean is alone on the bed, clean and fully clothed.

He glances round, bewildered, and finds Cas some way across the room, also dressed again and squinting through a crack in one of the giant petals, wings flapping lightly above his trenchcoat.

"The way outside is clear," he states. "I can form a portal back to where you were taken, but only in the circle of power. It's not far."

Dean's blinks at Cas' back, tracing the golden veins in his wings to help himself fully wind down from the sex and focus on what to do next. He's grateful for the sudden shift back to business though. The other stuff was getting... difficult. He'll need to think about it later. Alone.

Or maybe never think about it again.

Whichever.

He quickly checks his belt and pockets and finds his gun and knife where he left them.

"Right," he nods, standing up and moving beside the angel, peering through the slit between petals.

There's a lot of green outside. Trees. They must be in the forest. But Dean can easily make out the clearing he'd been in before a little way off.

"We're hidden here, for privacy," Castiel continues. "But the faery will sense us the moment we leave and may try to prevent your return." He turns and looks Dean up and down, all-business façade dropping for a moment as his eyes soften. "Will you... Are you alright?" he asks, hesitant, voice lowering.

Dean flicks his eyes away from the gaze, embarrassed, both at being asked, and at being wimpishly glad of being asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." he mutters, shifting his legs to relieve the not unpleasant ache building in them. "I'm, err... I'm better than fine, actually," he admits after a moment, turning back. "Where'd you learn to do all that?"

Cas gives that hint of a smile again, this time with a bonus sparkle to his eyes that Dean thinks might be pride.

"I learnt it from you, actually," Cas answers.

Dean frowns.

"You... what? I think I'd remember a lesson like that."

"I mean, from watching you, with women," Cas clarifies. "You were unaware of my presence."

Dean closes his eyes and gives a flat smile. The sex _had_ been surprisingly low on social awkwardness - he should have known the balance would have to be addressed somehow.

"O- _kay_..." he breathes, opening his eyes again and holding up a hand. "Do me a favour? This ever happens again, _don't_ admit to that."

Cas' eyebrows arrow down.

"Why?"

"Because, dude, boasting about bedroom skills is one thing. Admitting you learnt them by spying on people is just creepy."

"I don't understand, this is something you do all the time. I have often seen you watching strangers fornicate."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Porn is different."

"Why?"

"Just, because it is, okay? Maybe if you watched some every now and then you might understand."

"But I don't see how -"

Oh man, this argument is going nowhere fast. Dean waves a hand to cut it off.

"Look, forget it, okay? Nevermind. What's the plan with this portal thing?"

Castiel nods, face clearing as they get back on track.

"Yes. I will begin to create the portal from here. Once it is large enough I will keep back as many of the faery as I can while you run to it."

"Wait, you're not coming with me?" Dean asks, quickly. Far too quickly. Wuss.

Cas just shakes his head.

"Wherever you were taken from is unlikely to be the only place the faery have a presence," he answers. "Now I'm fully their King and have their respect, if I remain here I may be able to find their other outposts and close them off, while you and Sam put a stop to the one you've found."

Dean nods. Sensible.

"Okay. Cool. How do we do that?"

"The faery are, in many ways, like demons. They make deals to achieve their ends. Someone must have made a deal allowing first-borns to be taken. If you find that someone -"

"We find a way to void the deal," Dean finishes. "Got it."

There's a pause as they let the plan settle, Dean's mind reassessing it and searching for weak spots. There's plenty, but nothing they can help.

"So, let's do this," he says, first pulling out and cocking his gun then grabbing the demon-killing knife.

Cas takes a breath, eyes focusing past Dean and to the distance. Concentrating, Dean supposes, on the fairy power he's supposed to have access to now.

"Be ready to run when I say," Cas mutters.

Dean's going to reply when the golden veins in Cas' wings start to flash, like they have tiny lights running through them. Dean looks through the petals and sees a kind of whirlwind building in the fairy circle. It starts off no bigger than a basketball but grows rapidly. So fast it doesn't take long for a few flying lights to turn up and investigate, then a few more, then some larger ones that, now Dean can see them properly, look a lot like dirty people in different coloured hats. Almost show time.

"Dean..."

Dean tenses, ready to go, but Cas puts a hand to his arm and when Dean looks to him he finds Cas frowning, staring hard a something Dean can't see.

"Faery power is more taxing than I was expecting. I can't stabilise the portal."

That doesn't sound good.

"What does that mean? It won't take me back?"

"No. It will get you there, but the journey will be chaotic. And confusing. Your mind may be affected. Some short term memory loss, perhaps."

"Is that all?" Dean presses, cos that doesn't sound _too_ bad.

Cas squints, concentrating.

"Yes," he confirms. "It can't be any worse for you. But -" He breaks his concentration to glance at Dean, talking fast. "- there's no telling what you may forget, or how much. It could be very little. Or it could be everything that has happened here."

Maybe Dean's imagining it, but he thinks he hears a tremor of anxiety in his friend's voice.

He gives a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," he says, twisting his gun so he can brush a hand over Cas' fingers, before running out, weapons raised, towards the circle with its now door-sized portal, calling over his shoulder. "No _way_ am I forgetting this."

~*~

Except he does. Of course.

Barring a brief and frankly unnerving moment of arousal when Wackadoo Lady speculates about the missing people being taken to service Oberon.

Dean's pretty sure Sam didn't notice, thank god.

~*~

Castiel, on the other hand, remembers everything. In detail. All the time.

So it's really no surprise he's so horny the next time he turns up.

He takes Dean's advice about the porn, which seems to make matters worse in all ways. Especially his frustration, which, like other parts of him, rises to new levels at how disinterested Dean appears in what would seem to the hunter to be Castiel's sexual awakening.

Then Meg pulls her kissing trick and well, Castiel may be an angel but he's not a saint. With Dean unavailable - and yes, perhaps concern for his brother's soul may be a valid excuse - the attention of someone willing, even a demon, proves too much to resist.

At least he has enough presence of mind not to admit to where he _really_ learnt his technique.

~ **fin** ~


End file.
